Brightflame Accension (Book 1) by D.B. Penner Read Free Book Online

and Imperial recruits that occupied the tents. One group of girls in particular caught his attention. Embarrassingly, Will was discovered openly staring at a beautiful, raven-haired girl, who blushed and smiled at him. Art made a chivalrous bow when the rest of the group looked their way, which the girls returned with laughs and jeers instead of curtseys. Will chuckled at him too, receiving a dirty look and a punch in the arm. 
    “This way, sirs,” Bottleleaf said, smiling at Will pleasantly. The short man parted ways with them at a tent that housed four older women, tottering away to greet three newcomers each riding a horse as white as clouds. 
    “Well, we’re here,” Art yawned, patting the flank of his old horse. He glanced back at the group of girls once more before looking around. “Think there is anywhere to eat around here?” he asked, smelling the air about them.
    “Oy, you, Long-hair!” one of the women in the tent shouted at them. “Long-hair comes and gets hisself a haircut.” She brandished a crude pair of scissors.
    Art looked aghast. “Stay away from me, crone. Keep your shears to yourself.”
    “Young, green Long-hair needs haircut. Recruited he is, haircut he gets.” She beckoned Art and Will closer, but only Will heeded her summon.
    “That’s a good recruit. He stays still, and old Myrtle won’t snip his little ears off.”
    Not reassured, Will submitted himself to her shears. Though old, her hands were steady, slicing through inches of his blond hair with every cut. It wasn’t long before she stood back to observe her handiwork. A single snip later, she was finished. The elderly woman mussed his hair and bid him good luck in his training.
    Art was not so willing to sacrifice his brown locks, which were longer than Will’s had been by near half a foot. In the end, it took all four of the old women to chase him through the tent, scissors waving wildly in the air, before Art sat defeated in the chair.
    “Old Myrtle would think that she wants his manhood off, the way greenie Long-hair fights her. No matter; all Long-hairs become Short-hairs before good recruits go to the castle. Old Myrtle has been chip-chopping Long-hairs for days and needs rest. Not so young as she used to be, Old Myrtle. Thanking the good gods that green recruits here are some of the last. And there is no needs to cut little ladies’ long hair. Old Myrtle doesn’t see why not. Long-hairs become Short-hairs. It don’t matter whether they lords or urchins, it shouldn’t matter if they girls or boys. But Old Myrtle only is told to cut the boys and cut the boys is what she does. You’re done now, green boy. You can open your green boy’s eyes now. See, Long-hair puts up struggle, but Short-hair is obedient. Train well, Short-hairs, the Empire needs you.”
    Art ran his hand ruefully through the short crop of hair left to him. To Will, touching his own head felt foreign. But what isn’t at this point , Will thought sadly.
    “Tickle-brained hag,” Art cursed grumpily.
    Will chuckled. Art had not taken kindly to his new haircut, cursing Old Myrtle at every lapse in conversation. They sat around a small fire leaning against their saddlebags, roasting a brace of hare on a spit. A pair of young pages had tended to the horses. Will and Art had spent the evening walking through the camp, occasionally talking with another fresh recruit, but mostly sticking to themselves.
    They had seen two fights. One was a small fistfight between two rival families; the other started when a lordling’s son attempted to fondle a passing girl and ended with the boy bleeding heavily from a knife wound he’d received on the upper thigh.
    “Could have been worse,” Art had commented, squatting next to the moaning noble as he rolled on the ground clutching at his leg. “Her aim was just a little low. Overestimated you by a couple of inches, I’d say. Be glad about that for once, this time it works in your favor, eh?”
    The wounded boy had